


growing hearts

by mosaicos



Category: Free!
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 03:10:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5148089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosaicos/pseuds/mosaicos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps, in this world, he would have been fine on his own, but being with Makoto made him better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	growing hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lisettedelapin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisettedelapin/gifts).



The first time Haru met Makoto, Haru thought very little of him. Nothing good could come of crybabies, and Makoto cried _a lot_. It was extremely embarrassing, considering they were the same age, and Haru could not forgive that Makoto was giving three year olds (and Haru, as a member of said age group) a bad image.

Makoto was also always scared, or that’s what it seemed like. Haru found this annoying and also stupid, and wondered how Makoto even managed to get out of bed in the mornings.

As it was, Haru was a fearless sort of kid. He cared very little about shadows and stories about ghosts, and paid even less mind to things regarding others. Like the other children in the daycare not wanting to play with him. He cared even less, that his parents wouldn’t be home a lot (unlike Makoto’s parents), because in the end, he had his grandmother. 

His grandmother was the best person in the whole wide world, as far as Haru was concerned, and _that_ was something Makoto didn’t have. He didn’t have a grandmother who would make him his favourite food whenever he wanted to, or who would teach him how to colour inside the lines, or instruct him how to weed the garden on weekends. Haru had something special here that no one else had. 

It was probably reason enough why when his grandmother asked him to look after Makoto, that Haru angrily glared at a wall and petulantly agreed. 

It isn’t that he dislikes Makoto. It’s just… Makoto is _so_ different, and Haru liked being alone a lot, in silence, with his grandmother. Someone else around the house to play with him meant less time with his grandmother, and his grandmother doting on the cute boy from next door. 

That’s how it would be.

***

Except that’s not exactly how things turned out.

Wisdom comes with age, as some would say, and even now Haru thinks that perhaps his grandmother asked of certain things from her grandson that would ensure his happiness, later on. Of course that would be the case. Haru, a small child, would have no idea of the world as much as she would have. 

Asking to become closer to Makoto, to the point where Haru’s grandmother had to spend more time with him was a good thing.

In the end, Makoto learned a lot about her—on how to be like her, how to handle Haru under different circumstances, and how to (overall) accept Haru in all his uniqueness. It was somehow special, too, to have someone who also loved his grandmother _so much_ (but never as much as Haru, that was impossible), that they cried for her for days after her funeral. Haru would refuse to cry, but it was no matter. Holding Makoto’s hand as the younger boy cried, Haru felt like he understood everything his grandmother tried to teach him. 

Perhaps, in this world, he would have been fine on his own, but being with Makoto made him better.

He never cried when his grandmother passed away, not even during her funeral, despite the sadness that clung so close to his heart it stole words away from him. It was Makoto who stood by his side, who held his hand, and who reminded him that he should be strong. 

Someone had to look after Makoto after all, just like his grandmother had asked of him years ago.

***

Haru never forgets Makoto’s birthdays.

At least, as far as he can remember, anyway. He knows their families were friends since before he and Makoto were born, and that perhaps they shared a few joint birthday celebrations together. Nonetheless, Haru never cared much for his own. He was fine as he was, receiving a spoken congratulations, talking to his parents briefly on the phone, even the small dandelions Makoto would pick for him from down the road. 

Somehow, it felt a whole lot nicer to light up Makoto’s green eyes with surprise a couple of months later. To wish him happy birthday first thing in the morning, a promise of a good day at school, and to award him with a present Haru could create with his own hands. 

Makoto’s smile was what Haru wanted to protect the most.

***

It was raining on Makoto’s 7th birthday.

Haru remembers, because the twins had not yet been born, and Haru wanted to give Makoto a yellow shirt his father had bought in Tokyo for this exact occasion. Haru had worked hard, stitching (with his grandmother’s help) Makoto’s name in blue. Haru had even made a stencil of a clown fish to stitch into the shirt too, because Haru knew Makoto loved when he drew clownfish for his art projects in class.

He had worked hard for a few weeks on it, his grandmother helping him a lot more than what he’s proud to admit (but an aid that was necessary), getting the stitches just right. 

Haru wore colourful band-aids on his fingers when he went down the steps, blue umbrella over his shoulder, carrying the precious box with Makoto’s present. A ribbon sat on top, plump and blue, and his grandmother had laughed at the excited shine in Haru’s eyes when morning came on Makoto’s birthday.

However, no matter how much nor how long he rang the bell at the Tachibana home, no one answered. 

It was terrifying, and Haru worried that they had moved. That kind of thing was not possible though, was it? 

So, Haru waited, at the top of the stairs, holding on to his boxed gift and clinging to his umbrella for shelter. Just over an hour later, Makoto’s parents walked up the steps, surprised to see him there. Makoto, instead of walking between them, like he usually did, was pressed protectively to his father’s chest, a yellow raincoat and blankets over him, a large umbrella extra shelter for the family of three. Makoto’s mother had a soft, yet sad expression on her face.

Concerned, Haru stood up, holding tighter onto his present. 

“Haru-chan,” Makoto wheezed, softly, through coughs, skin pale and—Haru finally noticed—shivering uncontrollably. 

Makoto was bedsick for over a week, with a terrible fever and drowsiness that stole away the usual sunshine from his eyes. Haru tried to spend as much time with him as possible, but Makoto’s parents worried that he, too, would become sick, and only allowed him a few minutes of visit at a time. 

When Makoto was seven years and nine days old, looking much, much healthier, and smiling again, Haru handed over his gift. Makoto was sitting up on his bed, eyes bright and excited, like he hadn’t just been in bed for the longest time. 

Makoto wore that shirt so much that it tore, before he turned eight.

***

It really isn’t surprising that anyone would think that Haru and Makoto can communicate through telepathy. They don’t speak much between each other, yet they seem to know exactly that the other is thinking. 

It’s not so much a supernatural ability as it is having a friend for the longest time. Growing up with someone for as long as memory can be retained, and spending so much time with that person, would obviously give way to an understanding that goes beyond words.

Haru likes it when people think this way, though.

This kind of thing, it makes it foreboding for others to try and get between them. It makes others give up before even trying to befriend them. Haru is happy, just being with Makoto; he is fairly certain that Makoto is also happy just being with him.

He doesn’t understand, then, the feeling that surges from him when a boy called Rin tries to befriend them. He doesn’t understand why it makes him angry when a boy named Kisumi _steals_ Makoto from him, trying to drag him away to play basketball.

If Haru could really communicate telepathically with Makoto, then Makoto would have realised that it upset him to be on his own; that it upset him that Makoto was laughing and having fun without Haru around. 

If Haru could really communicate telepathically with Makoto, then…

...then Haru would know how much he was hurting Makoto.

***

Growing up together doesn’t mean that one is unable to hurt the other person. Growing up together doesn’t mean that one is unable to do the wrong things, or become selfish at some point, causing more pain than joy. 

Haru had never realised, until it was a bit too late, that Makoto’s heart could only take so much; that Makoto could only accept so many silences, so many selfish requests, before his smile, too, became strained and pained. 

There was a lot of learning that Haru had to do in one year—a lot of quick learning—if he wanted to amend what he had done, and pick up the pieces of a heart he had very slowly but surely helped break. 

Just because Makoto was everything that was good in contrast to himself, like yin and yang, it didn’t mean that Makoto couldn’t also tire. It never meant that Makoto had to end up being the one protecting Haru from everything that might upset him, when it had been Haru’s grandmother who had asked _Haru_ to look after Makoto. 

This much Haru wanted to fix.

***

Haru had missed Makoto’s 18th birthday, and panic had struck his heart when he realised that Makoto would be celebrating it _alone_ , in Tokyo. It’s not like Haru could help it, being stuck in training with his university all the way in Fukushima.

The best gift Haru could have given Makoto was, however, allowing him that one year of independence. Being alone on his birthday, surrounded by people _other_ than Haru, made it so that Haru’s congratulations (a whole three days late) much more sweeter.

Nevertheless, Haru found himself on Makoto’s 19th birthday spent at the laundromat. 

Haru felt sick, sitting on top of the washing machine, as clothes tumbled through the cycle and the machine rocked in place almost violently. 

He heard Makoto laugh. “Haru, if it’s uncomfortable just get off,” it sounded so simple, and Makoto’s voice was always this light and airy. “You can sit with me on the bench.” 

“I’m folding clothes,” which, while technically not a lie, was not getting done any faster on top of the washing machine than it would be on the bench next to Makoto. The response made Makoto shrug, unperturbed, and continue folding his shirts to put into a basket.

It wasn’t a fancy birthday by any means, but Haru had asked what Makoto wanted to do today (for once), and Makoto’s response of getting the laundry done was surprising, to say the least. It was raining and cold outside, like November was prone to be, whereas it was warm and cozy inside, if a little noisy. Haru could barely hear the new jazz music Makoto was into from the headphones hanging around Makoto’s neck. 

Haru was starting to stop fearing Makoto’s silences, or the lack of Makoto’s smiles. It didn’t mean that he was angry, not necessarily, but simply comfortable and content at any one specific moment. 

“I wonder how Rin is doing in Australia…” 

It was an immense relief for Haru, that he had somehow made things better, with Makoto’s help. That their relationship had grown, from one of over-protectiveness to one where they could both be mutually responsible for each other. Makoto was starting to grow into his own skin, with his own multiple interests and dislikes, and for once, Haru was a catalyst that allowed Makoto to explore whatever facet of his life he wanted—not one that would deter Makoto of becoming who he wanted to be.

He felt lucky—to have Makoto in his life, despite everything wrong he had done before.

“Haru,” the soft call earned Makoto a glance of blue eyes, hands stilling their job on folding the creases of a white shirt. Makoto was smiling at his best friends, warm and happy. “It’s not raining anymore.”

***

His hand held tightly onto the end of the umbrella, trying not to go along with Makoto’s obnoxious swinging of it. They walked at a distance, separated by the length of Haru’s umbrella, while each of them held onto one end of it.

It had indeed stopped raining, puddles in the street limiting their walking space; drops fell heavily from leaves and petals, but even then the sun was shining, clouds slowly dissipating opposite its rays. 

Something bothered Haru, and he was having a hard time putting it into words. If he truly did communicate telepathically with Makoto, he wouldn’t be fighting to get the words out his much at all. He feels cheated by everyone who has ever thought that, and feels miserable that Makoto’s apartment is right after crossing the street, whereas he would have to go to the train station to head back to his. 

As usual, it is Makoto who stops them, at the crux of Haru’s most emotionally constipated moments. 

“Haru, I’ll be out late tonight, so… Let’s hang out tomorrow, okay? Thank you for coming with me to do my laundry.” 

A bag with Makoto’s clean and folded clothes was at Makoto’s side. Haru breathed in deep, managing to take the umbrella away from Makoto’s hold altogether. A step forward, and Haru stretched himself tall—tall enough to ruffle Makoto’s hair out of order, a fond and touching gesture, as far as Haru was concerned. 

“Have fun with your friends, Makoto,” because, in the end, Haru can only wish and hope for the best in anything Makoto decides to venture into. It’s not about keeping surveillance on Makoto at all times, but in trusting that he can take care of himself, too. 

Makoto’s smile is big, even if his expression is sheepish and embarrassed at the gesture.

“Happy birthday.”

***

Haru waits and watches as Makoto crosses the street (knowing full well that there is no one else as responsible as Makoto, when it comes to obeying traffic rules), and waits to see him go up the stairs to his apartment, waits until Makoto waves at him, and disappears inside.

Growing up is difficult. Time has proven as much to Haru. 

—he smiles, making his way to the train station, feeling relieved. Makoto is happy. 

(But growing up alongside Makoto is a blessing worth all the pain and sacrifice that comes with it.)


End file.
